Sorted
by Queen Edmund Pevensie
Summary: In the aftermath of the White Witch Scene, Edmund has a few revelations. A little dark.


**A/N: Reminder that I like to pretend the Golden Age lasted five years longer than it did, so 20 years, rather than fifteen. **

* * *

Edmund is a fan of schedules and calendars.

Within the first couple of days after their coronation, Edmund and Peter figured out the Narnian calendar, found out how it worked with their calendar back home, how Narnians counted months and days and years. Together, they worked out where all their birthdays fell, and the date of their parents' wedding anniversary.

When they got back to England, Edmund looked at train and bus schedules, and found the dates of Narnian holidays, and the date of their coronation, and aligned their calendars once again.

Edmund could spend hours with maps and calendar and schedules, staring at them, figuring them out. They were simple, concrete. They made sense, even when they lied. They were made by people so other people could stay in control. Edmund could look at a map and know where he was and where he had to go, and how he had to get there. He could look at a schedule and remember what he did, and what he was doing, and what he had to do next and for how long. Sometimes, the schedules could be overwhelming, all the things he had to do, all the people he had to see, but as long as there was a plan, there was order; Susan always assured him that as long as they stuck to her schedule then everything would go as planned. No unforeseen event could slip unnoticed and un-dealt-with as long as Susan Pevensie had her schedule, and Edmund took comfort in it, studying it for loopholes and danger and found every unaccounted for second, and he catalogued every moment.

And anything that _didn't_ fit into Edmund's neatly planned, carefully plotted life could be fit in, all outcomes thought through, the best one selected like an answer to a test question, and then Edmund could make a plan. It was no wonder that he was so admired during his reign: he was meticulous and smart and honest. He could always do what had to be done, and he always had a plan.

He helped Peter with this one. The one where half their forces didn't walk away, where they were slaughtered like the war criminals they heard about back home, shot by a firing squad. They didn't have a chance.

He should have spoken up, but Edmund thinks he must be out of practice, being blunt or thinking through his actions. Susan says that it's okay, he's only eleven, remember, but Edmund _does_ remember. He remembers helping Peter develop plans more complex and much more reasonable than this before, the _first time _he was eleven. He thinks he must be out of practice thinking things through, thinks he must have forgotten how to tell Peter he was wrong. He thinks he must be a coward, and he wishes everyone would just listen to Lucy. Of course Aslan will help them. Aslan always did in the end.

But maybe he wouldn't this time. Maybe Aslan _did_ abandon Narnia right alongside of the Pevensies. The world is so wild now. Edmund wouldn't even know it was the same country if not for the air.

Edmund is standing on a ledge on one of the upper levels of Aslan's Howe. He can see so much of Narnia from here. The Great River winding silver through hill and trees, trees that grow darker and more menacing the further west they grow, past Lantern Waste into the Wild. The towers of Miraz's castle gleam ominously, the windows reflecting the sunlight from the east. It's still early morning, hardly eight yet. The Northern Mountains rise blue in the horizon, hiding giants in their crags. Beruna lies somewhere behind him, and the Stone Table somewhere below. If he closes his eyes he can almost see Narnia as she was, the beaches of Cair Paravel glistening white and pure, the woods wild with life, not filled with the ghosts of Old Narnia, the lamppost, standing tall, untrusting, flickering it's light undisturbed through the trees, not shrouded with branches and leaves grown thick overtop of it. Old Narnia, Beruna hardly more than a couple of dwellings and the site of Edmund's first battle, Aslan's Howe simply a cracked stone table where the witch executed her enemies, where Aslan–

His eyes snap open, and New Narnia floods back. It was stupid for Edmund to think that Aslan would abandon them, just because things were different, just because things had changed. This world wasn't really so different. The rivers and hills and mountains and countries were right where they ought to be. Edmund still faced the Witch at Beruna. Aslan still died for him, for Narnia, below where he now stands. The maps he used when he was king could still be good. They still made sense.

Although, it seems to be the _only_ thing that makes sense right now. There are probably a hundred Narnian bodies left inside Miraz's gates, and that blood is just as much on his hands as Peter's and Caspian's. Nikabrik got a knife in the back for attacking Lucy and…

And for bring back the Witch. Or trying to, stopped just in the nick of time by Edmund and a numbing terror and a blinding rage. _Edmund saves the day, _he thinks bitterly, kicking a stone off the ledge. It falls to the ground, narrowly missing the head of the only straight-haired faun he's ever seen.

The presence of the witch herself was more than a little unwelcomed. She's dangerous and cold and still haunts Edmund's dreams, but it could have been fine. There had been threats of her return before, threats that had been all talk or put down before they could amount to anything, and after a while, her memory became a legend and no one tried to build up her army again, let alone bring her back. But still, there were her supporters, people who believed it was her right to be queen, her right to drive out Aslan. Aslan, if there _was_ such a creature as Aslan, must be a worse tyrant than the witch.

But "more than a little unwelcomed" doesn't account for how much Edmund wants to follow that rock off the ledge straight into the lap of the straight-haired faun. It doesn't account for the panic rising inside of him that maybe he _didn't_ get there in time, or the white hot rage beating against the insides of his skull, or the betrayal that has lodged itself in his throat making it hard for him to breathe.

He wonders if this is how Peter felt all those years ago when he first ran off with the Witch.

He doesn't mean to think it, but he never does, and the thought alone unsticks his throat and forces a sound past his lips in an ugly, terrible sob. The thought of Peter, fourteen, scared, betrayed, betrayed by _him_, because Edmund was _angry_, brings him to his knees, staring over the ledge at the ground where Aslan walked before he died, died for him, for Narnia, for Lucy, and Susan, and Peter, and today, Peter almost threw all of that away.

Edmund can't think, can't hear, can't see. He might close his eyes and try to think of something to get him to focus, something, anything, but there's nothing there. Nothing but a flash of all those years in Old Narnia he spent growing, learning. He was only nine back then and he was only nine when they came back through the wardrobe, only he felt much older. He _feels_ much older. Much older than Caspian and a _hell _of a lot older than Peter, who promised him he wouldn't make the same mistake as Edmund did, if it ever came to that, who told him, _swore to him,_ that if for some lionforsaken reason she ever _did_ come back, Peter wouldn't even _think_ about helping her, _as if he even could!_ And then, Edmund might open his eyes and see the walkway into the Howe, and thinks if he jumped it might feel good a half-a-second before he dies, and maybe he could die before Lucy gets out there with her cordial, and then it would be over, and maybe Aslan would be merciful and forgive him for his one last sin. He doesn't want to die, but his head is spinning and he can't find the ground and it feels a little like the world is crumbling down around his shoulders and he just wants it to _stop._ He wants to go back to before they left Narnia and Peter was his best friend and the High King and not whatever the hell was in there pretending to be his brother. He can't make sense of anything that's happening, or anything that's happened in the last year since they went back to England, since they left Narnia, and now, right now, he can't think. If he could just think then maybe–

"Lion's _Mane,_" he moans, he sniffs, looks down at where the faun is, staring up and maybe calling to him to make sure he's okay, and the next thing he knows there are arms around him, pulling him up, cradling his whole body, and normally he'd be pushing them off, resisting, getting as far away from the touch as possible, but _now_ he doesn't even realize there are arms around him until they're the only things keeping him upright. And all he can think the whole time, once he feels the warmth of the body behind him breathing softly and steadily, keeping him securely in place, is that he is thirty-one years old and it's been a long time since Susan could hold him the way she is now, and even longer since she _has. _

He's not even through crying when she asks, "Are you angry?" which makes Edmund laugh a little and swear under his breath and Susan doesn't even need his answer. "I'm angry," she tells him. Edmund's crying subsides into hiccupping, weak, little laughs, and Susan's rubbing his back absently. "God, _I'm so angry_."

"Me too," says Edmund. He feels empty and stupid, but Susan's breathing hasn't changed at all and the rhythm is as predictable as one of her schedules and the fabric of her skirt is gathered in Edmund's fists, and it's soft and one of Susan's favorites from before, he remembers, and for a second he feels like he's home, and it's nice, and it's not even so bad when he remembers why he's out here with Susan in the first place too. He feels like he should say something, only he doesn't know what he wants to say. "How's Peter?" he asks, but it doesn't feel complete to him, doesn't feel right, and he hopes Susan understands what he wants to say.

"He's in mostly one piece," she says. "Unfortunately."

"Su," Edmund protests weakly, but he hasn't really got the heart.

"It's not just about the raid, though," Susan continues as if she hadn't heard Edmund. "He's allowed to make bad calls, and we're all at fault, except Lucy, _of course, _but…he just has to be _right._" Susan sighs indignantly. "It wouldn't be so bad if he would take responsibility for his actions. He could dare to be a little broken up."

"He is Su," Edmund assures her. "He's just…I don't know."

"Yes, well," she huffs. "_He's _not about to throw himself off a ledge."

Edmund bites his lip, not that Susan can see it. "I don't think I would have done it," he says. "I don't think…" But he still doesn't know if it's not a bad idea.

"You can forgive Peter whenever you want, Ed," she tells him. "But I can't lose both of my brothers because of him, so I'll be angry as long as I want."

Edmund snorts. "You are the master of holding grudges," he smirks.

She laughs and brushes Edmund's bangs out of his eyes. They sit there for a couple of moments in the cool air of a summer morning in Narnia. It was always their favorite time of day. "Do you want to go inside?" Susan asks at last. He could feel Susan roll her eyes behind him, and he supposes that because he's making jokes, Susan assumes he's feeling a little better. He is, definitely better than just a couple of minutes ago. But he doesn't know if he _does_ want to go inside. He lets go of Susan's skirt anyway and stands up, offering her a hand. She takes it, gets up, looks him in the eye and says, "I think you saved the day," with a smile and Edmund mirrors it right back. Susan leans down to kiss him on the cheek, and Edmund and Susan both know when she does, any day now Edmund will be taller than his sister.

Edmund just stares at her, remembering years upon glorious years in the Old Narnia, with the trees alive and dancing and Cair Paravel glittering in the early morning sun and glowing in the evening. He remembers Tashbaan in the summer, with a hundred Calormene parties, lavish and indulgent and all a little unsettling for Edmund, and suitors coming for Susan and then Lucy's hand in marriage as they got older and more beautiful, and Peter and Edmund only had to chase them away a handful of times. Anvard in the fall, standing in the mountains in the woods. In some places, you could see all of Narnia expanding north into giant-country. The leaves turned golden and fell to the ground, and the apples were sweet and crisp at Cair. Winter in Lantern Waste, but not if he could help it. But even with danger of wandering in the cold in such wild parts, and the dizzying sense of regret and loss that settled there in the winter, the pine needles glistening with snow was breathtaking, the icicles that hung off of branches were enticing. It was easy to see what drew them here in the first place, when the woods were covered in snow.

Edmund remembers other things too. His soft bed, Narnia's navy, courtroom, and meetings, libraries, and hours of paperwork, and reading letters, and learning how to hold a sword, and playing chess against Peter until Edmund was the best chess player in the North, and breakfast lunch and dinner with his family, Susan insisting on it, on family time, Lucy laughing and Peter working while Susan chats, and Edmund half-asleep at breakfast. He remembers it all. Every battle, every schedule, hunt, routine, meeting, procedure, party. It was only a little more than a year ago, Edmund had just turned thirty. Now he's eleven. He can remember the day he realized he had grown taller than Susan. It was three weeks after his eleventh birthday. Edmund had a growth spurt. In the next couple of days, Edmund will look to Susan and realize he's looking down, growing up all over again, except out of Narnia, in England, with their parents and their friends from school.

Everything was different now. This wasn't their Narnia. It's different and wild and godless. But it's a little like the Narnia they stepped into all those years ago. Everything is different, but everything seems to be the same. Calormen and Archenland are still south of Narnia. The Lone Islands still fly the Narnian flag. There's wilderness beyond Edmund's understanding to the west, and giants to the north, and Aslan still comes from the east. There are scared Narnians, hiding in the woods from the tyrants who fear them, and Edmund and Peter, it seems, still can't get along.

Edmund looks into the Howe behind Susan, and realizes he's still king, and once he's inside, as king he'll be forced to answer questions. What happened? The White Witch was _here_? Was it Nikabrik? The Raid, King Edmund, what happened during the raid, and what about my brother, sister, father, mother? Do you know what the plan is? King Edmund, where's the High King, where's King Caspian? Can you brief us on the last twelve hours, my liege? What happened in the Stone Table Room?

And the most infuriating: how are you, Ed?

Maybe Peter will seek him out, corner him, tell him he's sorry before Edmund is ready to talk about it. Maybe he _won't. _

Susan is already halfway through the door, before Edmund coughs awkwardly and says, "I'll be inside in a bit." Susan turns around and looks at him, but she doesn't say anything and her expression is cool and calm and blissfully blank, like he just called her name, nothing more, and she's waiting for what he has to say. Just waiting. She doesn't ask, so Edmund tells her. "I'm okay, Su. I'm just not quite ready to answer all the questions waiting inside." Susan just nods and takes a step forward, out of the Howe.

"Do you want me to stay?" she asks. No judgment in her voice, no overwhelming concern. "Out here with you, I mean." Edmund shrugs. He thinks he might like that, like Susan to sit on the edge of Aslan's Howe with him in silence or talking about things that weren't about the events in the present, or anything since they got back to Narnia and everything changed. "Okay," says Susan, and she looks both thirteen and thirty-three as she sits down, swinging her legs off the side of the ledge. Edmund sits down next to Susan, and they look out over their country, overtop the place where Aslan defeated the White Witch, where Edmund was saved, where Susan wept over his lifeless body until it grew cold.

The trees that used to dance sway in the wind, and hide things more wild than dancing trees and water nymphs. The mountains rise above them, their snowy peaks glistening majestically. It's the same Narnia, they realize. Their Narnia, their home, their country. She's buried underneath all the fear and wilderness and centuries of lost monarchs. _They're_ buried there too, in tales of their reign so distorted by time and bitterness and longing they've become little more than legends.

It's still their Narnia, but it's changed. Aslan still stood on this ground and sang the world to life and died for a little traitor who was hardly ten and had blood on his hands. Narnia is still Narnia, but it's changed. It's been 1300 years, and Old Narnia, _their_ Narnia is buried deep within the forests, and Old Narnia is wild and dark and New Narnia exists too. Telmarines and Narnian sons and daughters of Adam and Eve who hide among them. Narnia has changed

. Narnia is changing and it needs a new king. Old Narnia and New Narnia together. Edmund never could have planned for his Narnia to be the Old Narnia, but he thinks if he had, it's going more or less according to plan.

Narnia is changing and it needs a new king, not an old one, and Caspian, he realizes is just the right man for the job.


End file.
